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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25163023">In the Company of Dragons</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evergreene/pseuds/Evergreene'>Evergreene</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Temeraire - Naomi Novik, The Musketeers (2014)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU - Temeraire, Action/Adventure, everything's better with DRAGONS, show-level violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:01:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,819</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25163023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evergreene/pseuds/Evergreene</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where d’Artagnan arrives at the garrison to find that Athos is a dragon (aka that Temeraire AU no one asked for).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story grew from my thinking about that early scene in the first episode where d'Artagnan is walking into Paris all muddy. I added dragons (as you do) and ended up with this fic. It's complete so I'll be posting over the coming days and/or weeks. Full credit to Naomi Novik's wonderful Temeraire series for inspiration and I've lifted dialogue directly from the BBC's Musketeers series too - they own it, not me. I hope you enjoy the read!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>‘If the sky could dream, it would dream of dragons.’ - Ilona Andrews, Fate's Edge</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The loss of his father was still burning fierce when d’Artagnan first entered the city of Paris. His hair hung dank and bedraggled about his neck, his boots were caked through with the mud of the road, and the weariness to his stride spoke of exhaustion as much as of harboured grief, but he did not care, so focused was he on his mission: to find the Musketeer garrison and demand the justice he was owed.</p><p>A stranger to the growing city, he asked the first person he met for directions. The woman looked at him oddly, her bright, burning curls twined tight by the rain, but she pointed nevertheless to a strangely broad road that curved around to the west, skirting the low city wall and the close-packed buildings that stood like shadows under the leaden sky.</p><p>‘Follow that,’ she told him, ‘and you’ll find yourself there. Though why you should have business at the garrison, I don’t know.’</p><p>‘My business is my own,’ he replied distractedly, eying where the road disappeared into the misting rain.</p><p>‘Your business is going to get you killed,’ she retorted, shifting her wicker basket from one arm to the other, its brightly checked cloth a splash of colour amongst a dreary world. ‘I know that look in a man’s eye. And it doesn’t bear well for anyone.’</p><p>D’Artagnan bowed, sharp Gascon pride stung even beneath the weight of grief that had followed him all the way from the roadside inn where his father had bled out in his arms. ‘My thanks, Mademoiselle,’ he said stiffly, pulling about him all the dignity he could muster and, leaving the woman staring behind him, he set off along the road she had indicated, which trailed out of the city gates and wandered for a while before emerging where the matchstick wooden buildings had dwindled to naught and instead it seemed the whole of France lay spread out before him.</p><p>Drawing to a halt, he took a moment to survey the scene, one hand resting on the pistol at his belt. An endless sea of vast, grass-woven fields stretched into the distance - a roughly-fitted patchwork dotted with the swells of several low hills and littered sparsely with the occasional stubborn-grey brick of a building crafted from the native stone. Even rolling in mist and softened by the persistent haze of drizzling rain, the view looked so much like that seen from the crag behind his father’s farm that it sent a steep, wretched ache driving through his heart, and tears pricked hotly at his eyes before he even knew they were upon him.</p><p>Cursing, he dashed them away. There would be time for grief later, he told himself, and made a long, slow sweep of the landscape, finally picking out and finding the sprawling flagstone courtyard that had to be the Musketeer garrison.</p><p>Reckoning the journey was no more than a mile, he loosened his sword in its scabbard, checked his pistol in his belt and was about to stride forwards when he found himself making an abrupt, graceless halt as he glanced a second time at the sloping hills he had noted before.</p><p>They were dragons.</p><p>Blinking, he looked again, disbelieving, yet there was no mistaking it. The several sloping mounds he had taken to be natural features of the landscape were in fact the curled forms of sleeping dragons, the usual glint and glisten of their scaled hides dulled beneath the rain.</p><p>His throat went tight. There were dragons back in Gascony, of course, as there were in the rest of France. Wild for the most part, they were commonly visible as great black shadows blotting out the sun prior to their swooping down to savage a farmer’s herds. Many of Gascony’s sheep had suffered such a fate and, with a single assault often robbing a farmer and his family of their entire livelihood, hatred for them went well beyond mere ire. It was the very issue that had brought he and his father to Paris - Alexandre d’Artagnan galvanised into action with the loss of another neighbour’s herds and becoming determined to petition the king for recompense for the losses suffered often by their countrymen.</p><p>Of course, there were other sorts of stories about dragons as well, mainly those which told of the great, loyal beasts which served as mounts for the King’s Musketeers, the sovereign’s private guard. D’Artagnan had listened to the adventures of these men and their dragons - which, if not exactly tame, were at least acquiescent to their rider’s wishes - ever since he was a boy, balanced on his father’s knee in front of a roaring kitchen fire. Yet, even wide-eyed and enthralled as he had been then, he had known that outside of his home the tales his father told were anathema to their fellow countrymen, the adventure of them lost to the fury and despair of those who had lost all for which they had ever worked.</p><p>Whatever their true nature, he reasoned, looking out the fields before him, never had he thought he would see a dragon up close. Nor, he now realised, had it struck him in the nightmarish days since his father’s death, that if he were to challenge the Musketeer responsible for his murder, the man’s dragon would likely be there too.</p><p>He clenched his jaw stubbornly. Dragons or no, his goal remained the same. And so, mind set, he marched upon the garrison, ignoring the damp grass that caught at his boots as he crossed the boundless stretch of fields, and careful not to glance too much or too little at the hulking mounds to either side as he neared.</p><p>Upon closer inspection, the garrison was not what he had expected. The majority of the complex comprised a sprawling flagstone courtyard, at least four times the size of his father’s largest barn. Surrounding three of its sides were the wings of a parchment-coloured building. Its many mullioned windows looked down upon the courtyard, and here and there the arch of a tunnel ran underneath the main building to whatever lay behind. He supposed that somewhere must be a weapons store and a mess, and perhaps even a barracks for any men at rest. The faint scent of manure lacing the air suggested horses or cattle kept somewhere, though his stomach gave an apprehensive jolt as he wondered whether they were for the benefit of man or for the dragons. The last side of the courtyard lay open to the grassy fields. Its width made for easy entrance for any dragon who chose to cross their stretch on foot rather than fly, and it had the added benefit of affording a clear view of anyone who would approach.</p><p>A dozen men were scattered about the courtyard, most lounging as though at rest between labours. Riders, he assumed of them, mind going to the stories he had heard of the famed soldiers who ventured aboard their great beasts into battle. Several among them were sat propped on a mixture of barrels and boxes, languidly polishing long bits of leather, or else sharpening their swords with the lazy ease of those long practised at the task. Others still were engaged in mock-battles, duelling back and forth across the scarred, scratched flagstones, sending straw and other bits of detritus flying in their wake as they fought back and forth. Whatever their task, all of the men were seemingly ignorant of the still-falling rain, let alone the traces of mud spattering the cuffs and collars of their shirts and staining their britches, and to a man they looked nothing at all like what he had imagined a Musketeer. Rather, with their dishevelled hair and ramshackle uniforms in worn disarray, they appeared less regimented than the foot soldiers who occasionally patrolled through Gascony, and even more lax in their appearance than the local law officials who had oftentimes knocked on his father’s door to report the most recent dragon attack.</p><p>Still, he knew appearances could be deceiving sometimes and so he determined not to let down his guard as he passed through a low pair of boundary stones that marked a rough entryway to the garrison. The mud and grass of the fields shifted abruptly to solid stone underneath him as, pulling back his shoulders, he took a great breath, filling out his chest before making his intentions known.</p><p>‘I’m looking for Athos!’</p><p>His shout rang out clear and loud across the yard, leaving behind it a resounding silence before the men around him moved as one, rising unanimously to their feet. Near all amongst them reached for a weapon, most to swords but with the glint of firearms visible among them as well. Yet before any of them could utter a word, another voice, deep and rumbling, answered his challenge.</p><p>‘You have found him.’</p><p>The words seemed to echo out from the sky, sounding like nothing so much as the cold blast of wind that pre-empted a winter storm. Searching for their source, d’Artagnan looked up, and as he did the rough flagstones beneath him trembled. Once they shook, then again, and the violence in it near sent him to his knees as something huge and vast and monstrous made its way across the courtyard from the bordering fields. Stumbling back, he regained his balance just in time for a dark shadow, chilling and cool, to fall over him, and he found himself craning back his neck further and further until he was finally able to take in what was now standing proud and imposing before him.</p><p>It was a dragon.</p><p>Speechless for once in his life, he gazed upwards. The creature before him stood so large he was only able to take it in in flashes - the deep, black scales that gleamed like ebony in the rain, the long, arrogantly arched neck, the huge black talons that pierced the very flagstones of the courtyard, gouging hard-edged furrows which filled almost instantly amidst the continuing rain. The sheer bulk of the creature was immense - each of the tree trunk-like legs alone more than he could wrap his arms around - but a leanness to the creature’s flank suggested little more than muscle hidden beneath the scaled skin. What was most disturbing, however, was that he could have sworn it had been the dragon that had spoken, the voice coming from somewhere deep within that massive chest. And as the dragon loomed over him, forcing him to take a step backwards, he caught a sharp gleam of what could only be called intelligence in the creature’s slitted, crystalline eyes which only led credence to the thought.</p><p>The dragon swung its neck down and for the first time d'Artagnan was able to properly make out its sharply carved head, as inky-black as the rest of it. Angular and narrow for the most part, it gave way at the snout to wide, flaring nostrils that trailed a spool of steam as the dragon’s hot breath met the dampness of the misting Parisian air.</p><p>‘I am Athos,’ came the words again, and this time he was certain the sound came from deep within the beast’s massive chest. ‘Why do you seek me?’</p><p>There was nothing else for it. Reaching for the rage slumbering beneath the shock that his father had named not a rider with his last breath, but a dragon itself, he unsheathed his sword and raised it before him even as he lifted his other hand to his throat, undoing the metalled clasp of his cloak and allowing it to drop to the ground.</p><p>‘My name is d’Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony,’ he declared, raising his voice and watching carefully for some sign the great beast understood his words. ‘You murdered my father. Prepare to fight. Once of us dies here.’</p><p>The dragon was silent a moment. Then its angular head lowered even further and d’Artagnan found himself abruptly eye to eye with it – if it could be called such, with one of the dragon’s gleaming blue eyes looming larger than the length of his hand.</p><p>‘You are mistaken,’ the beast said plainly.</p><p>Anger writhed, stirring d'Artagnan to a fury barely laid dormant. ‘My father died with your name on his lips,’ he shot back. ‘I saw you!’ And as he spoke it was almost as though he was back there again, racing breathlessly from the stable to the inn’s sodden courtyard, just in time to see a huge black dragon raise its bloody maw from his father’s sprawled body before thundering towards him. He had had a single moment to feel his heart jump inside his throat and to raise his pistol before, with two great leaps and a beating sweep of its wings, the dragon had took to the air, taking the man plastered to its back, clad in the infamous blue cloak of the Musketeers, soaring out of reach of both his weapons and his vengeance. Firing off a futile shot at the great beast’s head as it had flown over him, which had achieved nothing but bring down a single loose scale, d’Artagnan had been helpless to do anything but return to his dying father, who had gasped out his last with the name Athos on his lips. Holding him as he had passed, d’Artagnan had known that no path remained to him other than seeking justice by pursuing the man who had ordered his dragon to Alexandre d’Artagnan’s murder. Now though, it seemed that responsibility lay with the beast itself.</p><p>Banishing the memory with a shake of his head, d’Artagnan raised his sword once more, prepared to fight as best he could, to whatever fate it led. About to repeat his challenge however, he was interrupted as a whippet-quick blast of hot air snatched the words from his mouth, sending scalding steam rising as another dragon, this one smaller than the first but longer and lithesome, landed on the flagstones beside them.</p><p>The newcomer let out a hiss, its sinuously long neck stretching out straight and tight before retracting as the beast took a moment to shake itself lightly, fanning out its five-spined wings to their fullest as though to show itself off. Rainbow-flashed droplets scattered off the emerald-green hide until the creature shone jewel-bright, its vivid scales glimmering like they had been polished to a high sheen. Seemingly satisfied, the dragon next snaked its gleaming emerald head down until d’Artagnan could feel its hot breath a mere foot away from him.</p><p>‘Athos,’ it said, ‘who is this?’</p><p>The green dragon’s songlike voice was more curious than angry. Yet before the black could reply, a bellowing roar split the air as a third dragon, this one glowing red as a lit forge and larger than the other two combined, descended with a thunderous thump onto the solid stones of the courtyard. It created a quake of such size it caused several of the watching men to let out undignified squawks as they were tumbled to the ground, and the windows in the surrounding building rattled in their wooden frames.</p><p>Thrown off balance, d’Artagnan took the fall on his shoulder and rolled, only to find himself coming up directly between the red dragon’s forefeet, the creature apparently having shoved its companions aside to take up position in their midst. Gazing upwards, d’Artagnan had a moment to note the strong, short neck and the plated sheets of horn that covered the newcomer near from tip to tail, looking almost like armour as they intersected each other with a rasp. A moment later he was scrambling backwards, trying to avoid the beast as it bristled, a fierce row of spikes rising angrily from along its spine as its massive teeth, each the length of a full-size sword, clashed together with a terrible noise.</p><p>Face to face with three dragons, d’Artagnan found his throat gone suddenly dry. Vengeance or no, never had he thought to find anything like this when he had made the decision to pursue his father’s killer. His gaze slipped from one beast to the other, finally settling on the black who had first confronted him. And, as he noticed the sharp, curving talons at the end of the creature’s claws, saw the sharp gleam of its teeth, the memory of running out of the inn’s stables to find his father choking out on his own blood returned his courage to him.</p><p>Taking a deliberate step back, he forced himself to disregard both the immense red dragon and the green snake-like one who was still curiously looking on, and he focused his gaze singularly on their night-black companion.</p><p>‘You murdered my father,’ he breathed, ‘two days ago, on the road here from Gascony. Do you deny it?’</p><p>The dragon, Athos, snorted, a plume of trickling smoke erupting from its nostrils. ‘I do.’</p><p>‘He named you his killer! Yours was the last word that he uttered-’</p><p>‘I am sorry for your loss. But your father was wrong. I am no killer.’</p><p>D’Artagnan’s temper flared, mingled with a swathe of grief and guilt and blinding rage that his father had left him, with anger and fury that this dragon dared deny him his revenge. ‘Stop lying to me!’</p><p>‘Do not be foolish,’ the black dragon snapped, and this time its mighty wings flared out, its claws clicking against the stone as it took another step closer to him, forcing him back several more feet towards the border of buildings. ‘We dragons do not lie. That is for men to do as they see fit.’</p><p>The green dragon pushed its way forward, narrow shoulders butting the others aside and causing d’Artagnan to stumble back another half-step, only to find himself tripping back in a sprawl against a set of broad wooden stairs that led to the upper level of the buildings.</p><p>‘Have no worry, Athos,’ it declared, sounding almost cheerful. ‘If this man tries to hurt you, I will step on him.’</p><p>‘You just try it,’ snapped a new voice, a human one this time, and the dragons and d'Artagnan alike turned to see a fire-haired figure striding past the boundary stones of the garrison, heavy skirts billowing and a red-checked cloth flapping from the wicker basket that was clutched in white-knuckled hands.</p><p>Recognising the newcomer as the woman who had given him directions to the garrison, d’Artagnan spared her a brief nod from his position spread against the stairs. ‘Your pardon, Mademoiselle,’ he said shortly, 'but this is a private matter.’</p><p>‘It’s Madame,’ she snapped. ‘And if you think this is private, you’ve got another think coming. With dragons involved, especially these three, I’m surprised half of Paris hasn’t turned out to see what all the noise is about!’</p><p>‘He killed my father!’</p><p>‘I did not,’ snapped the black dragon, flaring its wings again. ‘And I will not kill you.’</p><p>‘Liar!’ d’Artagnan shouted.</p><p>‘That’s enough!’ the dragon roared. There was a huge gnash of deafening, destroying teeth as they closed mere inches from his chest, then the dragon was turning away, one crystalline eye still on d’Artagnan as it moved.</p><p>Quick as a flash, d’Artagnan rolled off the stairs, reached for his sword and, muttering a prayer for his father, hurled it fluidly at the gleaming blue target.</p><p>There was an earth-shattering roar, a burning burst of flame, and d’Artagnan found himself pinned flat to the ground by a momentous black weight, feeling like a mountain was sat upon his chest as the melted remains of his sword drooped to the ground beside him, tempered down to little more than a mangled spool of metal.</p><p>‘Impressive,’ said the green dragon. Smoke from its flame was still twining out of its nostrils and it snorted, seemingly trying to clear them as it twined its head down towards d’Artagnan, who was forced to lean his head back to avoid the pointed fangs. ‘Very impressive. But Athos said enough.’</p><p>D’Artagnan struggled to free himself from the vast set of night-black talons pinning him, finally managing to inch one arm out and using it to scrabble for his knife that had fallen thankfully free of his belt. Yet a sudden thump sent the knife skittering away as the red dragon lifted up in a half rear before slamming itself down on its forelegs beside him.</p><p>‘Fiery little kit, aren’t you?’ it rumbled.</p><p>Opening his mouth to respond, d’Artagnan choked as Athos shifted forward and the pressure on his chest deepened. Black spots started to dance before his eyes, and he was only vaguely aware of the woman coming to stand beside him, her burning red curls a riot of colour in his greying vision.</p><p>‘Three dragons against one man?’ she was exclaiming, her voice echoey and faded, as though seeping through half-fogged glass. ‘How is that fair?’</p><p>D’Artagnan gasped as the pressure on his chest let up slightly. ‘I don’t need a woman to protect me!’ he rasped out, and the weight descended again.</p><p>‘We would not have killed him,’ came a voice he thought was Athos.</p><p>‘No?’ said the green. There was a sharp click of teeth. ‘Next time, let us know.’</p><p>Even with most of his concentration spent on the attempt to draw breath, d’Artagnan found himself abruptly distracted by something happening above him. Staring as he was up into the sky, he could see two new dragons circling overhead, looping high above the garrison. At first mere shadows, they quickly became larger, and sooner than he would have thought possible they were coming in to land. Immediately, two dozen men spilled from their broad backs onto the stones of the courtyard, and d’Artagnan realised both dragons were clad in a strange sort of gear, with what could almost be called saddles spread out against their brown-scaled hides and strewn all over with loops and strings of leather onto which a dozen men could cling. They also wore bridles made of knotted rope, with looping reins fastened back to the saddle so one of the passengers could steer. The men themselves were clad in leather armour. They bore the distinct scarlet cloaks of the city’s Red Guard, and their weapons glinted dully as they formed a half-circle around the three dragons, disregarding d’Artagnan and the woman entirely.</p><p>D'Artagnan craned his neck up as best he could in order to see as one of the soldiers straightened his shoulders before stepping forward with a bluster, throwing back his long cloak. ‘Man-eater!’ came his violent shout. He brandished a pistol at Athos, who snorted, sending another plume of smoke into the air. The great red dragon let out a rumbling snarl at the man’s words, but the green one simply snapped at the newcomers as a horse would a fly, as though they were an irritating nuisance best got rid of as soon as possible.</p><p>‘Two accusations in one day?’ it commented offhandedly. ‘What have you been up to, Athos?’</p><p>‘What is this?’</p><p>Pinned to the ground between dagger-sharp talons, d’Artagnan could do nothing but watch as a man, broad-shouldered and wiry, with grizzled grey hair that made him look older than he truly was, appeared in the entryway to the garrison. Taking in the scene in the courtyard with one swift glance, he strode out onto the stones, moving with the swift, assured strides of an experienced soldier. Through his haze of breathlessness, d'Artagnan was amazed to see the man stride right up to him and Athos and shove roughly at the black dragon’s foreleg.</p><p>‘Let the boy up, Athos. Do not make this worse.’</p><p>‘Make what worse?’ inquired the green dragon, but the man was focused entirely on Athos, ignoring even the reappearance of the Musketeers, who, from what d’Artagnan could tell, seemed to be forming a wide circle that encompassed him, the three dragons and the contingent of Red Guards.</p><p>‘I promised them you would follow orders. Now let him up.’</p><p>With a dip of his proud head, Athos lifted his claw, and d’Artagnan rolled awkwardly to his feet, pressing a hand to his aching ribs as he drew in sweet lungfuls of air.</p><p>‘Who are these men, Treville?’ demanded Athos.</p><p>‘They have come to arrest you.’ Treville held up his hand as the red and green dragons immediately bristled, the red’s plates of armour buckling loudly as he rose half onto his back legs; the green letting loose with a hiss that made smoke come shooting out of each of his nostrils.</p><p>‘It is a direct order from His Majesty,’ Treville continued. His lined face was grim. ‘Athos, there is no way around this. You must go with them.’ He looked to Athos’ fellow dragons in turn. ‘Aramis, Porthos, let this be.’</p><p>‘Go where?’ demanded the green dragon, Aramis, at once, pressing forward and almost crushing at least two of the Red Guard beneath his feet.</p><p>‘To the Chatelet. Athos has been charged with multiple accounts of murder, as well as ravaging three farms belonging to the deceased.’</p><p>The black dragon eyed d’Artagnan, but to its credit spoke calmly, lowering its head as it shifted so it was face to face with Treville. ‘I am innocent, Treville. You know this. You know me.’</p><p>Treville placed a calloused hand on the great black forehead, thumb smoothing over the damp scales. ‘And we shall prove it.’</p><p>The black dragon seemed to take this in. Then, bowing its head towards his companions, it allowed two of the Red Guard soldiers to come forward with great thick chains which they knotted securely about its jaws, before allowing them to lead it away, out of the courtyard and slowly across the plains. The other men and their two dragons followed.</p><p>As d’Artagnan watched them go, the red dragon, Porthos, craned its neck to the sky and let out a massive, mournful bellow before turning round and lurching into a run. The ground trembled with each step before it finally launched itself into the air, broad wings beating furiously at it fought to get its massive bulk aloft.</p><p>The green followed. Its own bugling cry mingled with that of its friend, and d’Artagnan watched them disappear together into the rolling mists that hovered sadly over the great fields of France.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much to all who read the first chapter. I hope you enjoy my second offering where d'Artagnan gets to know the dragons a bit better.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The warmth of the fire in the Bonacieux’s dimly lit living room did little to thaw the cold, solid lump that had settled in d’Artagnan’s chest as he held up his shirt so Madame Bonacieux could continue wrapping a length of linen bandages about his ribs, heavily bruised from the force of Athos’ claw pressing him against the flagstones. Her slim, cool fingers were soothing, but d’Artagnan paid them little heed as, behind him, Monsieur Bonacieux cleared his throat yet again.  </p><p>‘I must say, I am not surprised at how your father met his end,’ he remarked, his tone supercilious as he glanced down at his wife and d’Artagnan, perched on a wide wooden bench Constance had shifted from the hallway to before the large hearth. ‘What with dragons being as they are. They bring desolation to even the most innocent of us men.’ </p><p>‘They protect us.’ Constance’s voice jolted d’Artagnan from his reverie. ‘Those belonging to the Musketeers, at least.’ </p><p>'You're sure of this?’ d'Artagnan asked her before he could stop himself. He hesitated, then continued, deciding that he could do little to embarrass himself further when it came to this surprising woman. ‘That is to say, my father named Athos...’ </p><p>'Dragons do not lie,' she replied simply. Tugging at the bandage so it rested a little more snugly about his ribs, she met his gaze, and for the first time he noticed the soft length of her lashes. ‘If Athos says he did not do this,’ she continued, ‘I believe him. The Musketeers are a force for good in this world, and we are in sore need of it.’ </p><p>‘Their riders manage to direct their beasts’ savagery towards a deserving target, you mean,' interrupted her husband, adjusting his finely embroidered tunic as he glanced into a small silver plate positioned on the mantlepiece and polished to a high sheen. </p><p>‘What riders?’ D'Artagnan asked the question that had been nagging at him ever since his earlier encounter. 'The three dragons at the garrison – I did not meet their riders. Where were they?’ </p><p>‘There were many men there-' Constance started, but d'Artagnan shook his head. </p><p>'But none stepped forward to defend Athos. In all the tales I have ever heard of the Musketeers, no rider would have left their dragon to face an issued challenge on their own.’ </p><p>‘I hardly believe a dragon would have had the intelligence to orchestrate this if that is what you are saying,’ cut in Bonacieux snidely. ‘They may be well capable of the vicious deeds described, but to match the destruction of the farms to such bloody killings?’ D'Artagnan flinched but Bonacieux continued with a shake of his head, lip curling. ‘It’s impossible. Nasty, vicious brutes that they are.’ </p><p>D'Artagnan subsided, lost in his misery as he stared into the fire, watching the orange flames sing and skip. He had not heard anything of his farm yet, but wondered what of it would remain by the time he returned to Gascony. </p><p>Behind him, Bonacieux cleared his throat, a habit of his that was beginning to grate. Catching Constance’s eye, d’Artagnan did not think he was necessarily alone in this as she gave him a wry smile. </p><p>‘It does not matter,’ he said, interrupting Bonacieux before he could speak. ‘Dragon or man, I came to Paris to avenge my father and now I have lost my chance. All I have are more questions.’ He shook his head miserably. ‘I have failed him.’ </p><p>Falling silent, he returned his gaze to the fire, watching the mournful flames in their dance as Constance finished bandaging his ribs. That done, he roused himself enough to help her pack up the remaining bandages with a muttered word of thanks, only to be interrupted at the task by a sharp rap at the front door.  </p><p>All three of them stared at it, and the rap came again, louder and so strong this time that the door rattled on its neat hinges. </p><p>‘Are we expecting anyone, my dear?’ demanded Bonacieux. </p><p>Constance shook her head wordlessly. Rising from her crouch beside d’Artagnan and bundling the remaining linens in her hands, she crossed to the door and opened it. </p><p>A moment later she had stopped stock-still. D’Artagnan, catching sight of what she faced, thought briefly to himself that a lesser woman, or man for that matter, would have run screaming from what was there, and that he would not have blamed them if they had. </p><p>Crammed into the courtyard outside the Bonacieux house, looking even larger than it had done earlier that day, the green dragon from the garrison was perched in between the narrow wood-and-plaster houses outside, its long tail curved close about it so as not to get in the way, and one of its huge taloned claws raised high into the air.  </p><p>It looked like nothing so much as though it was going to strike Constance from the face of the earth and d’Artagnan immediately drew his pistol and gained his feet, all in one swift motion. Three quick strides took him to the door, ribs shouting, where he shoved his way past Constance, only for her to push back as she muscled her way to his side, Bonacieux hovering nervously somewhere a few steps behind them. </p><p>‘I beg your forgiveness for the intrusion,' began the dragon – Aramis, d'Artagnan remembered. ‘But there is good cause.’ </p><p>‘If you wish to kill me, you had your chance earlier this day,' retorted d'Artagnan, biting back a wince as Constance elbowed him none too gently in his injured ribs. </p><p>The dragon immediately lowered its claw, looking incredibly contrite if such a thing were possible. A thin plume of smoke jetted out the corners of its mouth, bypassing the long whiskers that d’Artagnan had not noticed before as it let out an odd bark he supposed could be interpreted as embarrassment. ‘I am sorry, but d’Artagnan, Porthos and I have need of you. I must ask you to come with us.’ </p><p>Taken aback, d'Artagnan shifted further out onto the doorstep, making sure to keep a tight grip on his pistol as he did. Looking up between the eaves of all the houses, he could see the red dragon, Porthos, flying slowly with great, sloping sweeps of its wings over the local rooftops. Other residents seemed to have noticed him too, for more and more people were emerging out of their doorways, hands over their mouths as they pointed towards the sky. </p><p>‘Why?’ he questioned suspiciously, holding out an arm to keep Constance back as she edged out for a better look and getting a slap on the shoulder for his efforts. </p><p>‘Athos is innocent,’ Aramis said simply. ‘And Porthos and I are going to prove it.’ </p><p>‘How?’ Pushing d’Artagnan’s arm out of the way with a last shove, Constance stepped forwards so she stood beside him, linen bandages clasped before her. ‘The King will demand evidence that Athos is not the one who killed those men. What do you have as proof?’ </p><p>Aramis shifted awkwardly – the courtyard was clearly somewhat of a squeeze for him. ‘Ah. We were rather hoping d'Artagnan might help us with that.’  </p><p>‘How?’ Constance demanded. </p><p>‘We hoped he might remember something.’ The dragon lowered his head so it was looking directly at d’Artagnan with a jewel-bright eye, slitted like a cat’s, just as Athos’ had been. ‘I regret I must make you think of it, d’Artagnan, but is there anything that might help lead to clues of your father’s murderer?’ </p><p>About to shake his head in denial, a thought abruptly occurred and d’Artagnan glanced up, a notion striking him. ‘I shot it.’ </p><p>‘You shot a dragon?’ Constance echoed faintly, but d’Artagnan’s mind was racing vividly as he replayed those last few moments in his head, seeing them with fresh eyes. </p><p>‘The black dragon was in the air, about to escape after...after. It had a man on its back, wearing a blue cloak. It flew towards me and I pulled out my pistol and I shot it. A scale broke off – it must have fallen to the ground.’ </p><p>‘A scale?’ Aramis’ voice was sharp and full of interest and its wings rippled, even tucked as they were against its sides. ‘Where from?’ </p><p>‘From its face.’ Reaching up, d’Artagnan brushed his fingers over the underside of his cheek. ‘Here.’ </p><p>The glint in Aramis’ eye brightened as it curved its neck forward eagerly. ‘Athos bears no such injury. If we find the scale, we can prove that he was not the dragon who played a part in your father’s death. And if we find the dragon, we shall find its rider…’ He glanced down at d’Artagnan, whose stomach jumped inside of him. ‘And then you shall have your murderers.’ </p><p>----------------- </p><p>‘That is your best horse?’ </p><p>Tugging at the belt that fastened his newly borrowed sword about his waist, nudging the buckle tighter, d’Artagnan stared at the sallow-backed, mangy creature of a colour that could only be called a particularly off shade of yellow that stood pliantly in the garrison courtyard before him. </p><p>‘We don’t have much need for horses round here, lad,’ replied the broad-shouldered groundsman who had brought it cheerily. ‘Course, you could always ask Porthos over there if he’d give you a lift.’ </p><p>Temper pricked by the edge of amusement in the man’s voice, d’Artagnan bit back a retort, already having been informed by another, less irritating groomsmen that it took years to build the trust before a dragon would allow a new human to board it. Finished with his sword belt, he accepted the proffered reins without a word, which were themselves little more than strips of leather no doubt recycled from some sort of dragon harness and buckled hastily together. There was no saddle to speak of, just a woven blanket that looked to have been pulled from someone’s bed. The only bit of equipment that looked in any way serviceable were the strangely large blinkers that narrowed the horse’s field of vision and a thin strip of cloth that had been placed neatly over the beast’s nostrils and fastened at either side of the worn-out bridle. </p><p>The groundsman noticed his dubious eye. </p><p>‘We find that horses don’t much like the scent of dragons,’ he said. He grinned. ‘Must be worried about becoming their next meal. Now, up you get.’ </p><p>Without further ado, d’Artagnan found himself boosted ignominiously onto the horse’s back. It let out a breathless groan as he settled into place and he patted it worriedly before gathering up the reins. It was not exactly the sort of mount he was used to, but he supposed it would have to do given the need to start quickly on their journey. According to Aramis, Treville had promised Athos a fair trial and that he would string it out for as many days as possible to allow time for the investigation, but even so their window was limited. Not to mention that his own sense of frustration was increasing with every passing hour as he wished to be away so he could finally secure justice for his father's murder. </p><p>Taking a firm grip on the reins, he looked skywards to where the jewel-green dragon and the glowing red one were circling impatiently above him. </p><p>‘Ready?’ he called. </p><p>For an answer, the two dragons dipped their wings then set off into the sky, the green bugling low and sweet as it went. Their flapping wings made nothing of the wide fields surrounding the garrison and as they began on an easy half-loop around the main city, d’Artagnan’s excitement built, eagerly anticipating the answers they might find. </p><p>He gave his horse a nudge with his knees. </p><p>It did not move. </p><p>He gave it a sharper nudge, more of a kick, then, when that elicited no response, clucked to it. </p><p>Nothing. </p><p>Feeling the watching eyes of the garrison’s men upon him, he threw caution to the wind and gave the horse a whack on its rump with the flat of his hand, cringing inwardly at the thought of what the groundsmaster on his father’s farm would say if he could see him now. </p><p>The horse whickered, sounding rather put out. </p><p>Then there was a roar from above him and his horse jumped what felt like a foot in the air and bolted into a gallop, d’Artagnan clinging on for dear life as the booming laugh of the big red dragon echoed along behind them. </p><p>---------------------- </p><p>The rain was coming down hard and fast from the iron-grey sky as they approached the weathered inn situated along the winding road to Gascony, just as it had the night his father had been killed. The two dragons set down in a muddy field that bordered the stone-brick building, their presence driving a herd of cattle penned inside into a wild panic that sent them racing for a far corner, where the former week’s snow was still clinging onto the stubby grass in icy dregs. Readying himself to make the demand of his companions that they leave the beasts alone, d’Artagnan found himself relieved when neither Aramis nor Porthos paid the cattle any heed, instead focusing their gleaming eyes on the slanted building with its slate-tiled roof where d’Artagnan and his father had been planning to spend the night. </p><p>Making directly for the inn, d’Artagnan found his horse practically sliding on its narrow haunches in the slick mud of the yard as he drew it to a halt. It did not need much convincing, having plodded along ever more miserably as the rain had worsened with every passing mile. Wincing as he slid down from the roughmade cloth saddle, he wished briefly it had been a comfier ride, but nevertheless made sure to throw the reins over the creature’s head and hitch it to a handy post before giving it a commiserating pat of thanks. </p><p>As he neared the front door of the inn, a balding, pot-bellied man scurried out of it, stained dishcloth slung over a shoulder and apron tied haphazardly round his waist. He was brandishing what looked like a frypan between his thick-knuckled hands. </p><p>‘You get away!’ the man shouted in the broad brogue of someone who had always lived far from the city. ‘Get away from here! I’ll have no business with dragons! They’ve caused me enough trouble the past few da-' He echoed off mid-word as d’Artagnan pulled down the dripping hood of his cloak, revealing his features. ‘Ah. It’s you.’ The man lowered his frypan. ‘What’s brought you here? Thought you would have wanted to stay well away after what happened.’ </p><p>D’Artagnan glanced towards Aramis and Porthos, the first of whom was nodding encouragingly at him.  Apparently he had been nominated as spokesman for their odd group. </p><p>He held up his hands, keeping them well clear of his sword and pistol, wishing silently that his fingers were a little less numb. ‘I would beg your favour, Monsieur. I have some questions about the night my father died and it seems you might be best placed to answer them.’ </p><p>‘If you want recompense, there’s not much I can afford,’ the man said stubbornly. </p><p>‘No.’ D’Artagnan shook his head, water streaming from his cloak as cold droplets ran unpleasantly down the back of his neck. ‘No, I’m not here for that.’ </p><p>‘Then what?’ </p><p>‘I’m on the trail of my father’s murderer. Perhaps you might allow us a look around? And a few questions?’ </p><p>The innkeeper nodded reluctantly, darting a quick glace at the neighbouring field. ‘Long as you keep your dragons away from my cows, I’ll talk to you once you’re done looking around.’ </p><p>‘My drag-?’ Cutting himself off abruptly, d’Artagnan nodded. ‘Of course.’  </p><p>Shoulders hunched uneasily, the innkeeper retreated back inside, leaving d’Artagnan to join Aramis and Porthos, who had started to prowl around the edges of the courtyard, both leaving enormous, squelching footsteps amongst all the mud, though Porthos’ were far the larger.  </p><p>‘Anything?’ he called to them, finding the thick mud pulling strongly at his own knee-high boots as he struggled his way over. </p><p>Aramis raised his head, wings clamped so close about his sides that d’Artagnan could barely make them out, giving him even more the look of a great, jewelled snake than usual. He looked about as happy to be out in the heavy rain as d’Artagnan’s horse and his hide seemed to have lost some of its deep colour. ‘Porthos thinks we’ll find something over there,' he said, gesturing to the far boundary of the yard with a twitch of his neck. </p><p>D’Artagnan joined the dragons in their search, focusing on the areas they could not so easily reach and occasionally cautioning them not to step in an area he had yet to examine for fear their heavy claws would bury the scale even further. He left the place where he had come upon his father for the dragons to search and was grateful when they let the choice pass without comment. </p><p>He was chilled through and sodden to the bone by the time a dull ebony glint caught his eye, and he reached down a gloved hand to victoriously pull from the ground a large black scale, near as big as his eye. He held it up and two giant heads loomed immediately over his shoulder, so close he could feel their hot, misting breath.  </p><p>‘That’s it,’ Aramis announced. </p><p>‘No doubt,’ Porthos rumbled. </p><p>‘We need to be certain,’ d’Artagnan argued, using his free hand to push back his wet hair as he twisted to face them. He was feeling strangely torn between wild elation and despondency at the discovery of the scale. Whilst his gut instinct had always urged him that the two dragons and Athos were telling the truth, a fraction of doubt still rested in his mind, and he knew it would be present in other minds as well. ‘The man wore a Musketeer cloak,’ he reminded them, ‘and Treville told you there were witnesses at the other killings who reported the same. This scale is not enough by itself.’         </p><p>‘You are saying you do not believe us,’ Aramis asserted. </p><p>‘I’m saying we need more proof if we are to be sure of saving Athos rather than simply delaying his death,’ d’Artagnan retorted. </p><p>Aramis snapped his teeth in annoyance but Porthos levered back his enormous scaled head, lifting one of his burnished wings in what d’Artagnan interpreted as a shrug. ‘He’s right,’ he growled at Aramis. </p><p>‘We need to find the dragon and his rider,’ d’Artagnan urged, and finally Aramis acquiesced.  </p><p>‘Very well. Let us go speak with the innkeep.’ </p><p>Picking his way over the muddy courtyard as the dragons followed, d’Artagnan rapped on the front door before shifting back a few steps, conscious of Aramis and Porthos right behind him. He was starting to rather like the feeling of having two dragons at his back.  </p><p>After a few moments, the innkeeper appeared, still with his dishcloth and apron but absent his frypan this time. He let out a short squeak at the sight of them before clearly doing his best to wrangle his courage. ‘Find what you were looking for?’ he got out finally, with only a slight break in his voice. </p><p>D’Artagnan nodded. ‘Just about. Now we’re looking for a dragon.’ </p><p>The innkeeper cast a quick glance beyond him. ‘You don’t have enough already?’ </p><p>D’Artagnan felt his lips curve up in a smile, the first that had touched him since his father had died. ‘Almost. Can you help us?’ He proffered the scale in his hand. ‘It would be the same shade as this.’ </p><p>The innkeeper looked uncomfortable, one hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his head with the dishcloth. ‘I can’t tell you much. Don’t want any trouble, you see, or not more than already has come by these past days. But truth be told, there has been talk about that a few more deer have been going missing than is usual, over towards the old castle. It’s a day’s ride that way.’ He nodded towards the west. </p><p>D’Artagnan gave a nod, stowing the scale back in a secure pouch in the inner lining of his jacket. ‘You have my thanks. And that of my friends here.’ </p><p>‘Just tell your dragons to stay away from my cows. That’ll be thanks enough.’ </p><p>-------------------- </p><p>Dusk was falling as they struck on towards the castle and the conditions worsened in tune with the encroaching darkness. The air turned colder, reminiscent of the previous week’s snow, and the rain was developing steadily into a thick, icy sleet that slanted down, somehow finding every crack and crevice that led to d’Artagnan’s open skin. Already worn from several days travel, he was flagging heavily, barely able to feel his gloved hands on the reins, and his ribs were reminding him with every one of his mount’s lopsided strides that really he should not be riding at all. To his surprise however, it was the dragons who called a halt. </p><p>‘It is no good,’ Aramis trumpeted down to him, his lithe form barely visible through the slanting sleet as he circled tightly above d’Artagnan. ‘We cannot go on in this. The rain is freezing on our wings, we can barely fly.’ </p><p>‘But Athos-’ d'Artagnan shouted back up through chattering teeth and a cupped hand. </p><p>‘Treville promised he would make that farce of a trial last as many days as he could. We can pause for a while.’ </p><p>Too cold to argue, d’Artagnan nodded reluctantly and gathered the reins in his numb fingers. ‘Where?’ he called, barely able to get the word out through his frozen lips.  </p><p>For answer, Aramis dipped his wings in silent command and d’Artagnan followed him obediently into the dark, urging his weary horse on.  </p><p>--------------- </p><p>By the time they had settled into the large open space that Aramis had located, night had fallen fully. The circular clearing sat just off the main road they had been following for the sake of d’Artagnan and his horse, and it provided a welcome reprieve to them all. A hollow dip of land, it was shadowed by large pine trees that cast some cover and deterred the worst of the weather, but more importantly there was space enough for two dragons to set down, even with one the size of Porthos. </p><p>Barely had Aramis landed when he was off again, sliding into the shadows of the surrounding trees with the aim of catching them something to eat. After he had shaken off the fringes of ice that had gathered on his boots and cloak, d’Artagnan took out his knife and set a couple of traps, hoping to snare a rabbit or even, given some luck, a small deer. Porthos, who had proclaimed himself on guard duty, watched from the one side of the clearing, red wings wrapped tight about his body to ward off the chill, and with one grouchy eye open. </p><p>‘Waste of time,’ he grumbled, watching d’Artagnan finish his last trap and busy himself searching for  enough dry wood for a small fire. ‘Flimsy little trap like that won’t catch anything.’ </p><p>D’Artagnan ignored him. Porthos had been terse to the point of sullenness so far, letting Aramis do the talking for both of them. Now though, watching the huge red dragon curl about himself with a huffed out breath, doing his best to tuck his spiny tail under his chin without pricking himself, he wondered if Porthos had just been waiting to get the sum of him without Aramis around. </p><p>With numb fingers, he built up his mound of slightly damp sticks, then crouched over it to it set it alight. His flint, which had fared ill in the pocket of his thoroughly soaked jacket, failed the first time and again the second, and d’Artagnan cursed low under his breath, not looking forward to the cold hours ahead without the small comfort of a fire. His oil-slick cloak had done little against a long time out in the winter chill and sleet, and now that he was knelt on the freezing cold ground, it was doing even less. Truth be told, he was beginning to desire little more than curling up under a nice tree and waiting for the night to end, but Porthos' watchful eye and his own stubbornness won out. The few soft snowflakes beginning to drift down between the trees added to his resolve as well, and he set his flint determinedly to his kindling once again. </p><p>It failed once more, and he hunched his shoulders irritably as Porthos grumbled something at his back. ‘I can do it,’ he said stubbornly, only to near jump out of his skin at the explosive snort that followed his words as the massive dragon sneezed. </p><p>‘Sorry,’ Porthos grunted, but he looked much more cheerful as he eyed the long strip of burning grass that lay beyond d’Artagnan’s now blazing campfire. </p><p>Hurriedly d’Artagnan got to his feet to bat the extra flames out with his saddle blanket and to add a few more sticks before hurrying over to comfort the horse, which was neighing and whinnying, lifting up in little half rears of fright. The thump and tremble of Aramis landing on the hard ground did little to help, and d'Artagnan sighed as he smoothed his hand over the horse’s buff-coloured nose and fed it the last handful of oats he had managed to keep dry before turning to observe his disgruntled companions.  </p><p>‘Where’s my dinner?’ Porthos was grumbling at Aramis. </p><p>‘Something scared it away,’ Aramis retorted accusingly. ‘It seems we shall go hungry tonight.’ </p><p>'We’ve only stopped for a brief time,' d’Artagnan said mildly, one eyebrow raised. He had not seen the dragons argue before and did not particularly want to get involved.  </p><p>Leaving them muttering at each other, he chose to do a last circuit around the clearing, checking for intruders or nearby prey, before taking a seat at the foot of one of the tall pine trees, positioning his boots to the fire. Its damp, roughened bark bit coldly into his spine as he wrapped his cloak about himself, sending chills rampaging through his body, and he winced as he closed his eyes with the vague hope of getting some sleep, hopefully without dreams of his father for once. The cold was not helping his ribs however, nor was the knobbly root digging into his calf, and he forgot himself enough to let out an aggrieved sigh. It seemed he had been wet for days. </p><p>‘Are you cold?’ came Aramis’s voice. </p><p>‘M’fine,’ he retorted, not willing to attempt more words in case the shivers wracking his body came through. </p><p>A rough nose nudged at him and he opened his eyes unwillingly. To his surprise, the massive head before him was fiery red rather than the smooth green he had expected. Before he quite knew what was happening, he had been coaxed persuasively up to his feet by a large nose under his armpit, then prodded heavily over to slide down again against Porthos’ side, sheltered by his tented wing.  </p><p>Immediately, he had to near bite back a groan as the warm heat of a dragon’s body seeped into him. The underside of Porthos’ flank was absent the same armoured plates that layered his top half, with the result that it was a little like sitting against a hot furnace, one that burnt with the soft, constant glow of lit embers. Settling back with a sigh of contentment, he felt the soft rasp of burnished scales against his already drying cloak. His whole body felt warmer, and a new weight over his feet made him realise that Porthos had draped the end of his heavy tail over them, careful to keep the spines away. His arched wing kept the worst of the snow off. </p><p>Already finding himself near sleep, he reached out to deliver a clumsy pat of thanks to Porthos’ side and in doing so realised that Aramis had settled down on the other side of the fire. His sinewy length was spread in a half circle so he rested nose to tail with Porthos, with d’Artagnan and the campfire encompassed between both their bodies. His slitted green eyes remained open, however, and d’Artagnan knew he would keep watch, and wake them when the weather had cleared enough for them to move on. </p><p>Toasty warm and lulled near into a stupor with the gentle heat around him, he was almost asleep when there was a light thwap from the darkness at the outer edges of the clearing. </p><p>D'Artagnan smiled lazily. ‘Rabbit, anyone?’</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the delay with this one. My unable-to-stop-fiddling-with-things brain apparently thought this chapter needed to be massively rewritten, with the result that this story is now five chapters. I hope you enjoy this new part and thanks as always for reading.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was well into the morning by the time the weather cleared enough for the dragons to be confident they could fly safely again. A sense of urgency had taken them all after the delay and they broke down their makeshift camp swiftly, Porthos and Aramis trampling about to subdue the last traces of the fire as d’Artagnan readied his horse. </p>
<p>They started out, again keeping to the road as the sky started finally to clear for the first time in days, with thin strips of mid-morning light breaching the heavy streams of cloud. Now that he could see Aramis and Porthos airborne without the low canopy of rain that had followed their company all the way from Paris, it quickly became obvious to d’Artagnan that the two dragons could have easily outdistanced him anytime they had wished. Instead, they seemed to be circling more often than they needed to catch the strong wind drafts they used to keep themselves aloft. In fact, more often than not their pattern of flight suggested they were spending most of their time scouting, flying ahead to look about before circling back to wait for him on his horse to catch up along the road. </p>
<p>With this pressing on his mind, he urged his mount on at a nice, even canter, but it was not long before Aramis was twining restlessly in the air above him, tail snapping. </p>
<p>‘A full gallop will exhaust it,’ he shouted, knowing what the dragon was going to say before he said it. ‘Trust me, this is the best pace for a journey such as this.’ </p>
<p>Aramis let out a sharp trill of impatience. ‘We must move faster, d’Artagnan.’ </p>
<p>‘Then carry me yourself!’ he snapped back, more angry at himself for slowing them down.  </p>
<p>There was a silent sweep of air, a cool gust of wings above him, then he was being lifted from the narrow back of his horse, seized tight where Aramis’ claws clutched at him. The horse screamed and veered off the road in panic, disappearing immediately into the scrubby trees that lined the gravel path, but d’Artagnan was in no position to be concerned for the beast, or even to bid it farewell. </p>
<p>Letting out a squawk he would deny for the rest of his days, he clutched desperately for any handhold he could find, fixated on the ground dropping swiftly away beneath him as Aramis regained his previous height. Tears formed in his eyes as the wind tore at him and he blinked them away furiously as he managed to manoeuvre himself so he was cradled securely in the dragon’s fierce claws. Once situated, he quickly resigned himself to not moving any more than that for fear of toppling out towards the patchwork fields and shining lakes below. </p>
<p>‘You are right,’ Aramis said conversationally from above him as he tightened his claws, clamping d’Artagnan more tightly in his grasp as the wind whipped past them, battering wildly at d’Artagnan’s hair, clothes and cloak. ‘This <em>is</em> faster.’ </p>
<p>---------------- </p>
<p>Now that they were moving as swiftly as the two dragons could fly, they quickly closed in upon the old castle the innkeeper had described, finally locating it set amongst a scatter of ruined buildings, encircled by a tumbled-down stone wall that formed the outer edge of a compound.</p>
<p>Aramis and Porthos flew over it once, hidden from any but the sharpest of eyes by the sheer height they first gained. D’Artagnan, still cradled securely in Aramis’ curved claws, was glad when they descended again, for he had had difficulty in catching his breath at the very pinnacle of their climb and he wanted a clear head for whatever awaited them below. He had been unable to make out many details of the camp laid out amongst the various stone buildings, his human eyes not sharp enough, but both dragons agreed as they set down a half-mile away that there had been less than a dozen men and just the one dragon present, all clustered around the main castle except for two lookouts. The dragon’s scaled hide had been a familiar black.  </p>
<p>Once he had clambered out from Aramis’s claws and convinced his body it wanted to unbend again, d’Artagnan joined Aramis and Porthos in discussion, seated where they were safely sheltered from any watchful gazes by the remains of an abandoned granary set just beyond the compound wall. After some debate, they agreed it was better to wait for darkness before launching their attack. Dusk was not far off after all, Aramis had reasoned, given how early the sun set in midwinter, and the warmer weather of the remaining daylight hours would hopefully persuade more of the icy snow to melt, providing them with better footing as well as lending them the cover of darkness. </p>
<p>‘Did you see the wagon?’ Porthos asked Aramis, sounding unhappy. </p>
<p>Aramis shook his neck out in agreement. ‘Full of blue cloaks.’ </p>
<p>Perched cross-legged on Porthos’ outstretched foreleg, the better to gain sufficient height to converse easily with his companions, d'Artagnan frowned. ‘Stolen?’ he demanded. </p>
<p>‘Or made.’ Clearly on edge, Aramis scratched with an irritated claw at the half-frozen earth. ‘And that was not the only thing of note.’ </p>
<p>‘What do you mean?’ </p>
<p>‘The blue cloaks were in the wagon,’ rumbled Porthos. His heavy tail lashed across the ground, sending snow and soil scattering in turn. ‘They were wearing the red ones.’ </p>
<p>‘Red Guards?’ D’Artagnan reeled back, startled. ‘But- but why?’ </p>
<p>‘The enmity between the King’s Musketeers and the Cardinal’s Red Guards goes back a long way, my friend,’ said Aramis. ‘Not just about how they treat the dragons in their service, but about what it means to protect and serve the people of France.’ </p>
<p>‘Brutes, the lot of them,' Porthos snorted. ‘Including their dragons.’ </p>
<p>Seated on his scaled leg, d’Artagnan was close enough to feel the red dragon’s displeasure rumbling down deep within his large chest and he reached out instinctively with a soothing hand even as he pressed on with his questions. ‘Then all of this-?’ </p>
<p>Aramis dipped his green head in a nod. ‘Is seemingly a plot by the Red Guards to cast the reputation of the Musketeers into disrepute.’ He snapped his teeth in displeasure. ‘And they have targeted Athos in their efforts.’ </p>
<p>D’Artagnan fell silent, going over it all in his mind. To cause such pain and destruction, to end lives even, for the sake of swaying opinion about a guard force? It was not fathomable. It was not <em> honourable </em>.  </p>
<p>‘What is our plan?’ he demanded, his already heated temper honed. ‘We need those cloaks as proof and I must have the chance to face the man responsible for my father’s murder. I will be little use against the dragon but-’ </p>
<p>Porthos snorted. ‘Now he admits it,’ he muttered, but he subsided quickly under d’Artagnan’s glare and offered something more helpful. ‘I can handle the dragon.’ </p>
<p>‘She is not small,’ Aramis commented. </p>
<p>Porthos rumbled lowly. ‘Neither am I.’ </p>
<p>'Very well,’ said Aramis. ‘I will look after the cloaks once I have taken care of the men. For once we are upon them they will surely try to destroy the evidence of their plot.’ </p>
<p>'And me?’ d'Artagnan reminded them, tapping an impatient hand against Porthos’ thickly scaled leg. </p>
<p>Aramis glanced down at him in consideration. ‘I do not suppose you would stay here where it is safe?’ At d’Artagnan’s scornful look, he let out disappointed huff of hot breath which steamed in the icy air. ‘Then it seems we need a plan to force the man responsible for your father’s death to reveal himself. Ideas, anyone?’ </p>
<p>Silence descended, then d’Artagnan tipped his head to one side. ‘I may have one.’ </p>
<p>After hearing it, Porthos ruffled his immense wings warily as he glanced over at Aramis, clearly not happy. ‘So much for the element of surprise,’ he grumbled, twitching his tail disconsolately before shifting upwards, sending d’Artagan tumbling with a hurriedly muffled yelp to the ground. </p>
<p>---------------- </p>
<p>Careful to make as much noise as possible on the thawing earth, which crunched thickly beneath his boots, d'Artagnan crept his way slowly towards the Red Guards’ camp, ducking swiftly between the ruined buildings that made up the surrounding compound. Most of the dozen or so structures remained only as low rings of half-buried foundation stones, but the odd few stood almost complete with crumbling walls that made for excellent cover, particularly with the addition of the shadows cast by the growing dusk. </p>
<p>He had left Aramis and Porthos back where they had first landed. Once he had sufficiently distracted the Red Guards and, most importantly, their dragon, with accusations of their plot, the plan was for Porthos and Aramis to launch an attack to secure the cloaks and subdue the enemy dragon, leaving him to face his father’s killer, whose identity would hopefully by then have become clear. He held some apprehension the other dragon would simply fly out and eat him before he had the chance to confront the Guards, but he had made the deliberate point of not mentioning that possibility to Aramis and Porthos, who already seemed uneasy about his plan. An unexpected protective streak had emerged in them both as they had discussed the possible outcomes of what he was about to do, and he had not wanted to give them reason to decide he was better off left behind. </p>
<p>Wondering at not having been discovered with all the noise he was making, d’Artagnan went rigid as he spotted a couple of bored-looking sentries a hundred feet or so from the main camp. Ducking into a crouch so the top of his head was just visible above the half-toppled wall he was sheltering behind, he made a point of shifting a few loose rocks with his boot, sending them scattering down a useful incline nearby. When the sentries did not react the third time he did that, he rolled his eyes, picked up a handful of pebbles and threw it at them. </p>
<p>After that, it did not take long before he was found, manhandled to his feet and muscled between the ruined buildings and into the midst of the roughly established camp. It comprised a half dozen bedrolls scattered around a lit and sprawling bonfire, which was piled high with what looked like broken wooden beams salvaged from the surrounding buildings. The fire’s crackling, red-orange flames threw sparks and leaping shadows against the dark, pockmarked walls of the nearby castle, as well as illuminating the remains of several meals and some pieces of discarded weaponry cast carelessly onto the ground. As a gust of wind caught it and it flared up, he was even able to pick out the dim bulk of the wagon bearing the Musketeer cloaks that Aramis and Porthos had mentioned, tucked away at the far edge of the camp. </p>
<p>The Red Guard’s dragon snapped its jaws lazily at him as he was shoved along before it. It was crouched in the shadows alongside the castle wall, its catlike eyes glinting like jewels in the darkness. It seemed to have made some sort of den out of what he dearly hoped were several sets of animal bones, and he could hear them rasping against each other as the creature shifted. Used to being around Aramis and Porthos, he could now see easily, even in the growing dusk, that apart from the glistening black of its scales, the dragon's resemblance to Athos was minimal. Its head was broader and less finely carved, its sprawling wings larger to cope with a heavier frame, and it had a length and weight to it that put him in mind of Porthos rather than Athos’s rangy form. Someone unfamiliar with dragons, as he had been that day at the inn, would certainly be taken in by the resemblance, but up close the differences between this dragon and Athos were impossible to deny.  </p>
<p>Yet what truly removed any lingering doubt in his mind regarding Athos’ innocence was the small patch of dull ebony skin on the underside of the dragon’s jaw, just visible as it had turned its head to snap at him. The spot looked identical in size to the flaked scale secreted just inside his shirt, and upon seeing it a deep surge of satisfaction went through him. Finally, between this and the cloaks, he, Porthos and Aramis had proof of Athos’ innocence – proof that this dragon, along with its rider, had been there at the inn and was responsible for his father’s murder. Anything he found out from the Guards could only add to the evidence. </p>
<p>The thought had barely registered when an unsympathetic shove landed him on the bare dirt encircling the crackling bonfire. Catching himself on his hands and knees, he looked up to the sight of the muddied boots of a dozen men, gathered round him in a half-circle hemming him in towards the flames. Abruptly, he found himself extra glad of the cool length of the hidden pistol he could feel tucked beneath his jacket, not to mention the spare knife he had secreted in his boot, and he reminded himself again that this was all part of the plan as he steeled himself for whatever was to come. </p>
<p>‘What is this?’ snapped an impatient voice from above him. </p>
<p>One of the Guards who had found him muscled his way forwards, his nasal voice distinctive. ‘We found him lurking round the ruins, Captain,’ he reported. ‘We think he was spying on us.’ </p>
<p>Heavy boots crunched over the earth as someone, presumably the captain, stepped nearer. ‘Get him up,’ came the order and d’Artagnan was hauled to his knees just in time to recoil from the rasp of drink-sour breath as a Guard bearing a brassy epaulet on his shoulder bent at the waist to see him better. </p>
<p>‘Spying on us, are you, boy?’ The captain’s hooked nose was prominent in his grimy, sweat-stained face as he stared at d’Artagnan. A dark edge of unshaven stubble shadowed his jaw, suggesting he and his men had been living rough for some time, but his shoulders were square and solid underneath his scarlet doublet as he reached forward to grab a handful of d'Artagnan’s hair with his gloved hand. ‘Why’s that then?’ </p>
<p>About to reply, d’Artagnan was cut off as the captain’s grip abruptly loosened. 'Wait,' came the sharp words. ‘I’ve seen him before. Get him before the fire.’ </p>
<p>Still on his knees, d’Artagnan found himself seized under each of his arms by a Red Guard and hauled nearer the light of the bonfire. Then the captain’s strong fingers were grabbing brusquely at his chin, jerking him nearer the heat spilling off the crackling flames. Already uncomfortably close, he could not help but flinch back instinctively at the sharp pop of a breaking stick from within the fire, but the grip on his arms only tightened and he was held firmly in place as the captain let out a surprised curse. </p>
<p>‘What is it, Captain Gaudet?’ said one of d’Artagnan’s guards. D’Artagnan seized on the name but the captain – Gaudet - ignored the question, instead digging his fingers in more solidly about d’Artagnan’s jaw. </p>
<p>‘What’s your name, boy?’ </p>
<p>D’Artagnan met the hard gaze levelled at him evenly. ‘I don’t have one.’ </p>
<p>That earnt him a solid cuff about the ear that made his head ring, sending black spots dancing before his eyes. ‘Don’t play the fool,’ snapped the captain, seizing his chin again roughly. His fingers pressed in painfully, forcing his head up. ‘You’re the lad from the inn, aren’t you? The one who came chasing after us after we’d done in your friend.’ </p>
<p>Taken aback by the casual admission of the unit's guilt, d'Artagnan waited a moment too long to answer and the captain leant closer, the stench of his soured breath coming stronger now. </p>
<p>‘Followed us all the way home, is that it? Been waiting around, wanting to get your revenge?’ He broke off into a harsh laugh, then let go of d’Artagnan’s chin, swiftly backhanding him across the face instead. ‘Brat.’ </p>
<p>His cheek burning, d’Artagnan took a moment to spit out a mouthful of blood before forcing all emotion off his face. ‘That stings.’ </p>
<p>The captain eyed him before letting out a chuckle, his mood clearly having lightened at the discovery of who he had in front of him. ‘You’ve got courage, I won’t deny it. What was the plan, listen in on us, make sure you had all the answers before turning us in? Or was the plan just to kill us in our sleep?’ He waved a dismissive hand towards the dragon, still crouched in the shadows on the other side of the bonfire. ‘You’re a fool if it was, lad. My beast would have ripped your chest out before you even got within ten feet, just like it did to that old man you were with.’ His face cracked in a grin. ‘I’ll tell you, I barely needed to give it the order for that one.’ </p>
<p>The words rang dimly in d’Artagnan’s mind as though the rest of the world had silenced. Then he surged to his feet and before he knew what was happening he was throwing himself forwards as an uncontrollable rage seized him. Heedless of the blows that rained down on his back, heedless of the pain and of his plan with Aramis and Porthos, he fought to free himself of the hands that held him, intent only on reaching his father’s killer even as more hands joined those about his shoulders, wresting him back until he was forced to his knees once more, breaths coming in furious, harsh pants as a new set of fingers fisted in his hair and he was forced to look up into the face of his father’s murderer. </p>
<p>‘Why did you do it?’ he hissed, wrenching forwards again against the hands restraining him. ‘Why kill my father? He did nothing to you!’ </p>
<p>‘Father?’ Even in the flickering shadows cast by the fire, d’Artagnan was able to make out the gleam that lit Gaudet’s eyes as he took a step back to look round at his men. ‘Hear that, men? We killed this lad’s father!’ </p>
<p>A harsh ripple of laughter erupted around the campfire. </p>
<p>‘Good riddance,’ came a harsh call from the other side of it, and d’Artagnan could only snarl wordlessly as Gaudet held up a warning hand. ‘Now there, men,’ he said, voice light, ‘this lad has lost a member of his family. We should show some respect.’ </p>
<p>‘Respect?’ d’Artagnan hissed. ‘You killed him and I know you killed others too! For no reason other than to serve your mad plot to destroy the reputation of the Musketeers!’ </p>
<p>Gaudet stilled abruptly, all trace of his newfound humour gone, mouth turned down into a tight line. ‘You seem to know a lot about our business, lad,’ he commented. His eyes flicked around at his men suspiciously. ‘How did you come by that piece of knowledge?’ </p>
<p>D’Artagnan remained silent, seething. </p>
<p>Gaudet snapped an order at his men, his voice like flint. ‘Search him.’ </p>
<p>Doing his best to hook his boots on the ground as he was dragged backwards away from the fire, d’Artagnan kicked out furiously as calloused hands patted him down, quick and impersonal. His sword and belt knife had already been taken – now his jacket was ripped open, the concealed pistol removed. Moments later, the scale was pulled free from the inside of his shirt with a shout of triumph, and he was shoved onto his back, hitting the cold ground just in time for a cage of black talons to slam down around him, pinning him against the earth. </p>
<p>Head ringing and ribs screaming, he looked up into the jaws of the enemy dragon, seeing them open wide before closing with a clash inches from his face. The creature’s hot, roasting breath was foul and wretched, and as it bared its gleaming teeth he could see the straggling, meaty tendrils of its last meal still caught, long and sinewy, between them.  </p>
<p>Stomach rebelling, he turned his face to the side as best he could, but there was no escaping the sight of Gaudet swaggering over to stand next to him. The guard captain was rubbing the edge of his thumb over the ebony scale held casually in one hand.  </p>
<p>‘No doubt about it, this little thing could have caused us a fair amount of trouble,’ said Gaudet, glancing down at it. He tucked the scale firmly into his doublet, patting the small bump it made. ‘Fortunately neither it nor you will be a problem after tonight.’ </p>
<p>The dragon tightened its claw about his chest and d’Artagnan gasped, body bucking helplessly for breath as his vision began to spot and grey.  </p>
<p>‘What’ll we do with him?’ he heard one of the watching Guards say dimly, the words thin and echoing through a loud rushing sound that was gathering in his ears. </p>
<p>Gaudet cast a careless glance down at him. ‘We’ll kill him. My beast will be happy enough to get rid of the body.’ He laughed, his good mood clearly having returned. ‘Not like anyone will miss him, not with his father dea-' </p>
<p>Vision blacking out, it took d’Artagnan a moment to realise what had happened as an immense wall of red blasted by him. It smashed into something huge and dark, the world toppled over, then abruptly he could breath again as Porthos and the enemy dragon tumbled together to the nearby ground, snapping and snarling as they grappled furiously, bodies mingling in a vicious mix of black and red. The next moment, a green blur shot by as Aramis hurled himself at the soldiers stood stock-still watching the battle, managing to knock them over with a single vicious swipe of one of his wings that sent them sprawling. </p>
<p>Sucking in great, gulping breaths, the pain in his ribs immense, d'Artagnan rolled up off the ground, making for where he had seen his pistol cast aside when he had been searched. Getting a desperate hand on it, he shot the first man coming for him, used his bootknife to slit the next man’s throat, then bent down to steal both men’s swords in time to drive them into the gut of a third. Then Gaudet was before him and d’Artagnan was forced to stumble back to avoid the slash of his sword before returning the attack. </p>
<p>‘You’re no more than a traitor!' he accused, breathing harshly as he blocked Gaudet’s next strike by a hair’s breadth, then sending sparks flashing into the night as he retaliated with a glancing blow. ‘Killing innocents, ravaging their farms! You disgust me!’ </p>
<p>Gaudet let out a bellow before launching into a furious set of strikes that d'Artagnan had no option but to parry. Yet the drink that laced the man’s breath soon made itself known, and it was not long before d'Artagnan was driving him backwards towards the fire, finally launching a lightning quick run of blows that ended with Gaudet on the ground, sprawled out with his head towards the flames. </p>
<p>Striding towards the captain with death in his mind, he crossed his blades and had sliced them down towards Gaudet’s neck with a screech of steel when Aramis’s now familiar bugle cut through the evening.  </p>
<p>‘D’Artagnan!’ The clear call split the air from where the emerald-green dragon was crouched low over the wagon bearing the blue cloaks, slashing out with his claws to keep the last remaining soldiers at bay. ‘We need him alive!’ </p>
<p>D’Artagnan gritted his teeth but pulled his blow at the last moment. Instead, vibrating with fury, he rested his blades on either side of Gaudet’s throat and leant down towards the shaking, sweating man. </p>
<p>‘Death in combat is too honourable for you,’ he hissed. ‘I’m going to see you <em> hang.’ </em> </p>
<p>Only half aware of Aramis taking care of the last couple of men with a well-placed swipe of his tail, he straightened up to unstrap his belt to use as rope for Gaudet’s wrists. Forcing the captain onto his back with a boot to the ribs, he had barely started to crouch down again to bind his hands when a surge of vicious dragon fire erupted over his head. Throwing himself flat, d'Artagnan sheltered his head desperately with his gloved hands and only dared lower them when the blistering heat had vanished and the ground began to shake.  </p>
<p>Looking up, his heart jumped into his throat. The black dragon was stalking her way towards him, her monstrous claws crushing the limp bodies of the Red Guard where they had fallen. Just beyond, d’Artagnan could see Porthos struggling to push himself up from where he was buried half-within the castle wall, clearly unsteady on his feet and in no position to help. Moving more swiftly now, leaving him no chance to run, the black dragon trumpeted her fury, and d’Artagnan found himself only able to think of his father as he looked towards his death. </p>
<p>Then there was a sweet breath of air, and the flap of lithe wings sounded in his ears as Aramis landed beside him, his scaled green head pushing at him anxiously as he urged d’Artagnan to his feet.  </p>
<p>‘On, get on!’ Aramis cried, and before d’Artagnan quite knew what was happening he had one leg over Aramis’s shoulders and the dragon was lifting off with light, leaping strides that instantly changed to the cool sweep of flight as his gleaming emerald wings successfully caught the lifting wind.  </p>
<p>Behind them, d’Artagnan heard a massive roar. Glancing back, he saw Porthos clash in midair with the great black dragon, who had apparently leapt into flight after them. Necks wrapped around each other, claws and teeth entangled, the two dragons were plummeting towards the ground like hawks after prey. At the last moment however, just when d’Artagnan was convinced they would both crash to their deaths, Porthos wrenched away and managed to pull up, driving into the air with great, exhaustive beats of his wings that resounded into the night.  </p>
<p>The other dragon kept going. </p>
<p>Balanced lightly on Aramis’s back, gripping tightly with his knees and hands at the warm green scales, a sword still clutched in one hand, d’Artagnan closed his eyes to the horrible noise of the impact. Once he was sure it was over, he forced himself to look down at the scene below them, abruptly finding it hard to swallow as he took in the mess of mangled limbs and flattened weapons that had once been a group of armoured, well-armed men. Beside them, the black dragon lay in a crumpled heap, her huge wings tented awkwardly and her heavy limbs sprawled akimbo as Porthos landed nearby, prowling carefully closer before lifting up in a half rear to drive his massive forelegs down where d'Artagnan thought the creature’s head likely rested. </p>
<p>Turning away at the sick crunch of shattering bone that cracked through the night, d’Artagnan made himself reach out and run a hand down Aramis’ neck in wordless thanks before leaning forward. ‘Put me down?’ he asked. </p>
<p>Aramis gave a trill of disagreement, but when d’Artagnan repeated his plea, he acquiesced, easing into a soft glide before settling lightly on the cold ground, which was swiftly turning icy again as night properly fell. </p>
<p>Sliding hurriedly down, sword still clutched in his hand, d'Artagnan hastened across the campsite to where Porthos seemed lost in a battle rage. Roaring, the red dragon was trampling the black’s body again and again beneath his feet and had risen to do so again when, worry for Porthos outweighing his wariness of being crushed, d’Artagnan darted forward, slowing to a walk with one hand outstretched as he got close. </p>
<p>'Porthos,' he called, doing his best to keep his tone calm despite the rapid beating of his heart and the nagging ache of his injuries of which he was only just becoming aware of again. He had not seen the usually placid dragon like this before and it was unnerving, not knowing when or if Porthos would come back to them. </p>
<p>Yet at his approach, Porthos stopped what he was doing and gradually lowered his massive head, burnished flanks billowing wildly as he allowed d’Artagnan to reach up and rest a tentative hand lightly on the soft red scales on his snout. Slowly, d’Artagnan started to breathe in time with the dragon's huge breaths, matching them until they started to slow. 'It's over,' he repeated again and again soothingly, and finally the snorting breaths eased until Porthos seemed calm once more. </p>
<p>About to turn back to check on Aramis, a sharp movement caught d’Artagnan’s eye, just as Porthos’ roar and Aramis’s shrill bugle cut again through the night. </p>
<p>‘D’Artagnan!’  </p>
<p>Instinct along with their cries made d'Artagnan shove his sword back, and the blade caught Gaudet in the chest as the man crept up behind him, a short, gleaming dagger clutched in his hand. </p>
<p>Gaudet stumbled backwards with a choked out gasp. Letting go of the sword, d’Artagnan turned to look as he toppled to the ground, his face going still as he watched the last moments of his father’s killer. Seconds later however, he found himself snatched up in one of Porthos’ large claws, only to be set up high on the massive dragon’s back, perched in amongst the fearsome, bristling spikes. </p>
<p>Taken aback by his sudden shift in perspective, d'Artagnan blinked and stared down at the ground, which suddenly seemed very far away. </p>
<p>'Ah...Porthos?’ he tried softly, but it was not until Aramis came over and began to twine himself along Porthos’s plated sides, crooning softly, that the red dragon would finally let him down again. </p>
<p>With both feet set firmly on the ground, d'Artagnan rested a hand against Porthos’ large foreleg and tried for a weak smile, the excitement of the past hour rushing out of him all at once. ‘Don’t you just love it when a plan comes together?’ he murmured to him softly. </p>
<p>The big red dragon rumbled lowly and d’Artagnan turned his face into the warm, scaled hide, relief taking him that the hunt for his father’s killer was finally over. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a short one this time, and one more to go after this! Thanks so much to everyone who's left a comment or kudos, I love hearing what you think. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'Porthos does not react well to having those he is fond of in danger,’ Aramis confided a while later in a dragon-sized whisper as they moved swiftly about the campsite, checking all their enemies were either dead or safely secured with whatever sort of bindings they could find.  </p><p>Considering that Aramis had yet to let him stray further than a dozen feet away since Gaudet’s failed attack, d’Artagnan only allowed himself a humouring nod, and made sure to give Aramis’s probing snout a reassuring pat before continuing about their business. </p><p>For his part, he had been relieved to see both dragons come out of the fight relatively unscathed. Porthos had a few toothmarks and some scratches from his fight with the enemy dragon, but Aramis had positively preened as he informed them he had taken care of his elements of the battle suffering little less than the mud on his claws, which, he announced, he was fully intending to wash off once Athos was safe.   </p><p>D'Artagnan’s own ribs had settled into a dull, constant ache but he pushed the pain aside in favour of concentrating on what needed to be accomplished before they could leave for Paris. Having two dragons following him around made it an easy task for him to shut the remaining Red Guards in a mostly complete building – an old storehouse, he thought, stepping back to consider its solid stone walls. Porthos nudged a large chunk of the ruined masonry in front of  the absent doorway to keep the men secure until they could return, and the dead were moved carefully to beside the castle wall, protected by the wagon to hopefully deter any scavengers. </p><p>The next task was to return to Paris as swiftly as possible. Together they fashioned a version of the saddle borne by the enemy dragon that Aramis would tolerate and which would also be safe for d’Artagnan. Aramis turned up his nose with a snort at the long reins the Red Guards had utilised and instead indicated for d'Artagnan to climb on without further delay. He did so with a mixture of apprehension and excitement that was interrupted as Porthos scooped up the cloaks between his massive jaws and dropped them heavily onto Aramis’s back, causing the dragon to whirl around in protest and almost unseating d’Artagnan, who had still been finding his balance. Once Aramis had settled down and received his demanded apology from an obliging but unrepentant Porthos, d’Artagnan twisted round to cast a few more ropes around the cloaks, knotting them tightly to the light saddle to hold them securely on board. Then they were off. </p><p>This time, without an enemy dragon in pursuit, d'Artagnan had the chance to experience the true thrill of flight as Aramis took with him into the air. Porthos was close on their heels, his huge wings flapping laboriously until he had gained sufficient height to level out, but after that he and Aramis settled in next to each other. Once they were airborne, d'Artagnan leant forwards, thinking he might be better heard and also hoping to the sinuous curve of Aramis’s neck might help break up the heft of the wind.  </p><p>‘What now?’ he called. </p><p>‘Now, we make for Athos with all speed,’ replied Aramis simply. D’Artagnan nodded soundlessly before realising it was not much help, and instead lifted a hand from the leather and cloth saddle to run a hand down the gleaming scales lining Aramis’s neck. That done, he looked to tucking his cloak close about him to discourage any flapping edges and settled in for the long journey back. </p><p>It was a strange feeling, being astride a dragon, he thought. Whilst being clutched in Aramis’s claws had not been exactly comfortable, it had felt smoother somehow, for his new position allowed him to feel the effort it took as Aramis's hard muscles worked to keep them aloft, with a rhythmic, almost melodic stretch and pull of his wings as he climbed a little before settling into a smooth, endless glide. </p><p>The darkness made everything more disorienting, with the vast canopy of countryside below them all but invisible apart from the gleam of the occasional pinprick of light as they passed over a lone farm or settlement. Yet it sent a deep thrill of excitement through him too – a feeling of weightlessness and, even more so, a sense of companionship, as though he, Aramis and Porthos were the only things awake in this dark world. </p><p>Making sure he was secure in his seat, d’Artagnan shifted a little so he could lean out into the night, the leather creaking beneath his weight. It was disconcerting at first, to be without anything in his eyeline apart from the faint, shifting edge of Aramis’s wing and the shining gleam of far away stars, but soon he had forgotten it in favour of enjoying the icy brush of air against his skin and the way the wind played with his hair, sending it scattering back and forth across his forehead. </p><p>Closing his eyes for a moment, he inhaled a deep breath, then opened them again to gaze out into the midnight sky, looking towards the star-specked horizon where Paris lay lost somewhere leagues away in the distance. And for one freeing moment, despite his latent grief for his father, despite his worry for Athos, he could not help but lose himself in the clean, sweet sensation of flight as he was carried weightless through the night in the company of dragons. </p><p>----------------------- </p><p>Dawn was beginning to stretch its light-filled fingers across the eastern horizon as they soared over the outer reaches of Paris. Already cutting swiftly through the air, having sped up with every passing mile, Aramis increased his speed even further as soon as they came in reach of the main city until d'Artagnan found himself reaching instinctively for the narrow lines of the light leather saddle. The wind whipped bitterly at his eyes as the lithe green dragon slipped through the air, and soon he realised they were making directly for the great stone building that was the Chatelet, rather than first stopping at the garrison. </p><p> Gut tightening, he braced himself for a rough landing as, making a mockery of the Chatelet's towering defensive walls, Aramis swooped over the parapets and plunged into a dive. D'Artagnan felt his stomach heave as the sky dropped away beneath them and they shot towards a grassy courtyard surrounded by massive stone walls curving in on every side.  </p><p>In the middle of it, surrounded by armoured men, was the hunched black form of Athos. Crouched in the middle of the courtyard, heavy chains were drawn tightly over his back and sides as well as against his neck and each of his limbs, binding him so close to the earth he could barely twitch. A slew of Red Guards encircled him, shining grey muskets readied and aimed. Another of them, bearing a flint in his hand, was just about to light the fuse of a heavy cannon positioned to send its deathly shot straight through the side of Athos’s ebony skull, and d'Artagnan’s heart froze at the sight.  </p><p>Time seemed to slow as they drew ever nearer. Mere wing beats behind them, Porthos let out a deafening roar that seemed to shake the air itself as they thundered towards the earth, then d'Artagnan was sliding free from Aramis’ back and was racing to close the distance between him and Athos in a few short strides.  </p><p>‘Stop this!’ he shouted as he ran, one hand on the hilt of his sword to steady it. ‘He’s innocent! Lower your weapons! Athos is innocent of all charges, we have proof!’ Skidding to a stop beside Athos' sharply carven head, he held out his arms, positioning himself spread-eagled between the cannon and the dragon still pinned to the earth. </p><p>The guard nearest him scoffed, his bearded face purpling in outrage. ‘What are you at, you fool?’ he shouted. ‘Step away or that dragon won’t be the only one with a hole in him!’ </p><p>D'Artagnan merely levelled him with a look.  ‘Athos is innocent,’ he retorted, ‘and I’m not moving until he’s free. So lower your weapons, or I will raise mine.’ </p><p>'I suggest you do as he says,’ Aramis remarked lightly, prowling forward with his burden of cloaks, and Porthos gave a  thunderous growl of agreement as he gusted powerfully in the air above them, his size preventing him from landing in the courtyard without trampling some of the men, not to mention d'Artagnan himself. </p><p>‘Stop this at once!’ </p><p>Still outstretched between Athos and the cannon, d’Artagnan felt his legs near give way in relief as the Captain Treville’s senatorial voice cut over the scene, moments before the man himself appeared, slamming behind him an arched wooden door as he strode down a narrow fleet of stone steps leading from the Chatelet. </p><p>‘I said stop this!’ Treville snapped again, glaring at the guards. ‘That is the son of one of the victims. If he says Athos is innocent, it bears investigation at the very least.’ Treville’s mouth tightened minutely. ‘No matter the Cardinal’s thoughts on the matter.' </p><p>Satisfied that events were at least on hold, d'Artagnan reached out a hand to Aramis’s preening neck, needing to reassure them both they had managed to accomplish their mission in time. Aramis nudged him back so hard he almost fell over and, as he steadied himself, he could not help the answering grin that spread across his face as overhead Porthos let out a satisfied roar.  </p><p>Mouth still quirked in humour, he turned to face Athos, somewhat apprehensive of his welcome after their first meeting. Yet the dragon was already looking at him as he turned around, the one blue eye that was visible crystalline, assessing and clear. </p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here it is, the last chapter for anyone still reading. I'm sorry for the delay - this last part needed a lot of work and the end of furlough slowed everything up. I hope you like the conclusion to this story, which was very much a labour of love. Enjoy. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Collapsing back against the warmth of Aramis’s gleaming flank, d’Artagnan stretched out his legs and enjoyed the soothing heat of the courtyard flagstones seeping up into his tired muscles. He had been up since dawn grooming not one, but three dragons, until they shone like newly minted coins, and it was a relief to finally relax and enjoy the warm spring sunshine that had overtaken the world after a long, hard winter.</p><p>Lifting up a hand to push back the stray strands of sweaty hair sticking damply to his forehead, he let out a grateful sigh as Aramis seemed to read his thoughts, half-raising one of his wings to create a shady alcove to shelter him from the full heat of the sun. The green dragon had selected to curl up in what d’Artagnan had learnt was a frequent sunspot for him, his long, lean back jammed against the wooden staircase leading up to Treville's office. The sinewy length of his tail blocked the doorway to the arms room as well, leading to muttered complaints from the several Musketeers who had been forced to clamber awkwardly over him in the course of their morning duties. Aramis had so far politely declined all requests to move, commenting tartly that he was in sore need of his beauty sleep and that those who complained were likely in need of some themselves.</p><p>Sprawled out just beyond Aramis was Porthos. His massive bulk stretched lengthways across the flagstones, with both wings extended to their fullest in order to soak up the sunlight overhead as well as the warmth of the yard. The faint golden threads d'Artagnan had discovered that morning running the full length of his wings were gleaming brightly in the sun, and d'Artagnan’s mouth tipped up in pleasure at the sight, admiring how his hard work had polished them to an aurous sheen that glowed against the burnished red of the dragon’s scales.</p><p>The tip of Porthos’s tail lifted briefly, only to drop heavily over d’Artagnan’s legs with a thump. Sighing, d’Artagnan lifted a hand to run it over the gleaming scales, running hard and smooth beneath his fingertips. Despite the heat, he had little heart to push Porthos off, knowing it to be the big dragon's favoured method of ensuring he was safe. He much preferred it to Porthos’ other method anyway, which involved scooping him with a massive foreclaw and depositing him amongst the fortressing spines on his back. This had resulted so far in d’Artagnan deciding to risk life and limb several times by sliding down the dragon’s massive flank in an attempt to get back to the ground where the action was, resulting in a large, disgruntled dragon and a nearly broken leg. The tail had been a compromise they had reached together, and it was one that, though he would never say it, d’Artagnan rather enjoyed.</p><p>Athos lay just within arm’s reach of d’Artagnan, his midnight body angled lightly against the clean edge of one of Porthos’s wings. Cleared of all charges some weeks ago after an intricate but finally honest trial, his ink-black wings were now held loose and relaxed at his sides, and his eyes were for once slitted closed in rest. If d’Artagnan stretched out his fingers lightly, he could just scratch the dragon’s soft snout the way he had learnt Athos loved. He did so now, and could not help the broad smile that broke over his face as the normally reserved dragon blew out a hot, relaxed breath, causing d’Artagnan’s sweaty hair to fan gently back from his forehead as Athos nudged softly into the caress.</p><p>‘D’Artagnan.’</p><p>Too lethargic with warmth to consider moving, d’Artagnan raised his free hand to bat away the owner of the voice, gesturing for him to go either over or around the various bits of dragon in the way. He had learnt quickly over the weeks since starting at the garrison that having three dragons as your companions had its advantages, and high amongst them was that if you sat with one barely anyone would demand that you move.</p><p>It had been strange getting used to his new life. After some persuasion by Athos, Aramis and Porthos, Treville had allowed him to join the other Musketeers in their work on a trial basis, with the result that his days were split almost evenly between chores and training, with swordplay, guns and flying all being covered in depth. Failing his trial and being forced out of the garrison had become a constant fear in the back of his mind and - ever conscious he was growing closer by the day to the trio of dragons who seemed to have adopted him - all his attention was on ensuring he gave Treville no reason to even consider it.</p><p>Any free time he had was spent on a dragon’s back, sat just at the crook of a gleaming, muscular neck and shoulder. He was getting used to the way Athos’s slender muscles would shift beneath him with the swift beat of his wings, seeming to respond to his every thought, how Aramis was as at home in the water as he was in the air, how the cumbersome strides of Porthos making himself ready for takeoff were now as familiar to him as a horse’s canter. He smiled, thinking of the single moment as Porthos’ huge bulk became light as a feather as he made that first massive leap into the air, but the reminiscence was cut short when the owner of the earlier voice interrupted him a second time.</p><p><em>‘</em>D’Artagnan!<em>’</em></p><p>Jerked abruptly out of his daydream, d’Artagnan opened his eyes to see the captain of the King’s Musketeers looming over him, his shadowed featured lit by an outline of sunshine doing little to hide the grim set of his mouth as Treville glared at him.</p><p>Startled, d’Artagnan shot to his feet, tripping over Porthos’ heavy tail as he went. His sudden movement startled the dozing Aramis, who heaved abruptly to his feet, stepping on Porthos’ outstretched wing with one of his fine claws as he did so. Startled out of his sleep, Porthos let out a deafening roar that shook the buildings around them, rattling the window frames and causing Aramis to bugle back indignantly, and the two only quieted when Athos flicked open an eye to bare his sharp teeth in a snarl.</p><p>‘We need to talk,' Treville said into the silence that followed.</p><p>With a soundless nod, d’Artagnan bent to finish unwinding a grumbling Porthos’ tail from about his ankles before trailing Treville up the wooden steps to his office, through the glass plated door and into the dim interior. After the dazzling sunlight outside, it took him a moment to be able to see more than spots, and he blinked hurriedly, willing his eyes to adjust before quickly taking a place standing before the single wooden chair set at the foot of Treville’s large wooden desk. Treville himself strode around the desk to sit down in his own leather-backed chair before folding his arms in front of him.</p><p>A few moments passed until finally Treville spoke.</p><p>‘You’ve been with us now for nearly two months since Athos was cleared, is that right?’</p><p>Certain that Treville knew exactly how long he had been at the garrison, d’Artagnan nodded silently, clasping his hands behind his back.</p><p>‘Is there anything you wish to ask me?’</p><p>Forcing himself to resist shifting uncomfortably under the piercing blue gaze pinned on him, d'Artagnan thought furiously, unsure what was expected. Treville had been generous in allowing him to earn his keep about the garrison, quite apart from acquiescing to the dragons’ request to have him to join the other Musketeers in their training. Athos' retrial had revealed that the D’Artagnan family farm had indeed been destroyed in the Red Guard’s plot, meaning he had been left with no place to go, and d'Artagnan did not want to disappoint the man who had given him a new purpose as well as somewhere to spend his days.</p><p>He had thought on his situation a great deal, both when busy with his chores and when tossing restlessly in his bed at night, unable to sleep despite his body’s exhaustion after a day’s hard work. Truth be told, he was not entirely sure he wished to return to Gascony, even if he could find the money to rebuild. He was finding the dragons held a strange lure for him, and life at the garrison, even on the quiet days, held that spark of adventure he had never found in farming. His newfound friendship with Constance was deepening by the day, and she and her husband had recently offered him permanent room and board at their house. He would be loathe to leave his new life, even if he could. He had found a home here, and he did not want to put it at risk with a foolish question.</p><p>Even if there was something that had been nagging at him recently.</p><p>‘Well?’ pressed Treville impatiently.</p><p>Gathering his courage, d'Artagnan squared his shoulders, tossed his future to the fates, and spoke. </p><p>‘Where are their Musketeers? The riders of Athos, Aramis and Porthos, I mean. I was sure they would have returned by now from their travels...’</p><p>‘Travels?’ Treville asked, deadpan.</p><p>Fighting not to squirm, d’Artagnan barrelled on. ‘From all the stories I’ve heard, I didn’t think dragons liked to be separated from their Musketeers. And none of the men here have flown with Athos, Aramis or Porthos, at least not since I came to the garrison, so I assumed their riders were away and-’</p><p>‘The dragons are the Musketeers.’</p><p>D’Artagnan halted mid-sentence. He opened his mouth, let out a strangled sound, swallowed, then tried again. ‘What?’</p><p>‘You heard right.’ Treville paused, eying him closely and seeming to make a judgement before continuing. ‘Athos, Aramis and Porthos, as well as the rest of the dragons who call the garrison home, are the Musketeers. Not the men.’ Treville looked at him sharply, tapping blunt fingernails on the surface of the wooden desk between them. ‘Surely you had your suspicions that all was not as it seemed here?’</p><p>Mind whirling, d’Artagnan forced himself to stutter out an answer. ‘Well, yes,’ he said at first, because he <em>had</em> thought there was something the dragons were not telling him, particularly about the long absence of their riders which was a subject that the three of them had kept avoiding whenever he had brought it up. Aramis had gone so far as to take to flight in the middle of a conversation one day, leaving d’Artagnan stranded behind him on the ground with a long walk back to the garrison. But even so... ‘Are you sure?’</p><p>‘Fairly sure,’ Treville replied, tone dry.</p><p>D'Artagnan dropped into the chair behind him, suddenly not that bothered that he was sitting before the captain. Fighting to find his words, he looked up. ‘There are no riders known as the Musketeers?' he clarified, just to make absolutely certain he understood things correctly.</p><p>‘No. And yes. The men under my command who go aboard the dragons into battle, in bands, are known outside the garrison as the Musketeers. But those of us inside know the truth. It is the dragons who are the true King’s Guard, acting in partnership with my men and bearing them into battle.’ Treville leant back in his chair. ‘And from your reaction, you can imagine why the truth is not more widely known.’</p><p>‘But the men here…’</p><p>‘Grooms, some. Most are soldiers. As effective as a dragon is by itself on the battlefield, a musket ball or two from the sky never goes astray.’ Treville’s eyes narrowed. ‘The men are trappings, d’Artagnan, trappings to prevent the truth about who and what the Musketeers are getting out to the general populace. All those you have worked alongside these past weeks provide a front for the dragons and willingly.’</p><p>D’Artagnan was lost for words. ‘But... <em>why</em>?’</p><p>Treville’s voice cut sharp. ‘Can you imagine Athos, Aramis or Porthos allowing themselves, or each other, to be controlled? Kept under bridle, following orders like beasts of burden, going where they are told without questioning their orders?’</p><p>‘No, but-’</p><p>‘Dragons are intelligent creatures. They have their own ways that are foreign to those who don’t understand them, but they are no less rational than you or I. They make for an excellent guardforce and I would trust each and every dragon here with my life.’</p><p>D’Artagnan’s mind was racing.</p><p>‘If the dragons are their own masters,' he started, the many possibilities flashing before him, ‘then why keep it a secret?’</p><p>Treville straightened in his chair, nails starting on the table again. ‘Do I need to explain?’ Clearly not convinced by the faint shake of the head d’Artagnan gave, he sighed. ‘You are aware of the reputation of those dragons who choose to live wild? You and your father came to Paris to petition the king so he would do something about the resulting losses, I believe.’</p><p>‘Yes, but-’</p><p>Treville continued, ignoring him. ‘As far as most people in this country are concerned, dragons are fearsome beasts - vicious, dumb and with no thought other than for their next meal. They believe that some dragons can be tamed to serve humans and that’s true. Some dragons have lost the fire and knowledge held by others of their kind – others whom, like those here, are as intelligent as you or I, with a strong sense of justice and loyalty above all else.</p><p>‘The King chooses to promote the knowledge of the wild dragons while protecting the secret of his Musketeers. He believes if the people knew the truth of his private dragon guard, poised to defend him and the country, they-’ here Treville cleared his throat - ‘may all want one. I see it more that rival nations would seek to develop their own forces and that could prove a serious threat to France.’</p><p>D’Artagnan digested this. ‘And the Red Guard?’ he dared ask.</p><p>Treville’s mouth tightened. ‘The Cardinal is aware of the truth of the Musketeers, but has chosen a different method to preserve the safety of this country. Rather than trusting the dragons in his service, he both searches out those dragons who have lost their fire to serve as common beasts of burden and also takes young dragons from the wild he thinks he can break.’ Treville’s lip curled. ‘His Red Guard foster emotions of anger and rage in their mounts and keep them in a constant state of hunger. The dragons follow the orders they are given to satiate this bloodlust, eventually forgetting who and what they once were.’ Treville darted a sharp look at d’Artagnan. ‘I hope I barely need say the dragons who make up the Musketeers are different, as are the men I select to help in their care.’</p><p>’But-’ D’Artagnan’s head was spinning. ‘Athos once said that dragons do not lie. How have they kept this secret?’</p><p>‘They do not lie.’ Treville lifted his chin. ‘Men do it for them. I do it, as do all the men here. To protect the dragons and to protect France. Why else do you think Athos, Aramis and Porthos have not spoken to you of all this before?’ At d’Artagnan’s blank look, Treville sighed.</p><p>‘Listen closely, d’Artagnan. The dragons that take up the mantle of the Musketeers are their own masters. They operate as individuals, like Athos, Porthos and Aramis, or else do us the great honour of bearing the soldiers under my command into battle for the good of the country in which they have chosen to live.’</p><p>Treville took to his feet at this point, leaning forward to place his hands knuckle-downwards on his desk. His gaze was hard. It seemed as if he had finally reached the point he had brought d’Artagnan inside to make.</p><p>‘Occasionally, and let me impress into you just how rare this is, a dragon will choose to take a human companion, a true Rider, someone with whom they form an unbreakable bond. They will allow that person to fly with them, to go astride their backs as they will allow no one else – in battle, on the hunt, it does not matter. The two lives, man and dragon, are entwined. Being part of that bond is like nothing else in this world.’ Treville broke off, his voice gone hoarse, before starting again. ‘These partnerships are a rare thing, d’Artagnan, and all the more precious when they happen for that reason.’ The captain fixed him with an eagle-eyed stare. ‘Such a bond is not to be taken lightly.’</p><p>D'Artagnan stared at him. He had the feeling this was what Treville had been coming to all along.</p><p>‘You are one such person, d'Artagnan.’</p><p>Swallowing thickly, d'Artagnan shifted on his feet, feeling himself heat up as his heartbeat accelerated. ‘You mean I’ve . . . been chosen?’</p><p>‘Chosen as a Rider, yes.’</p><p>‘But-’ D’Artagnan’s head was reeling. ‘But what does that mean, exactly?’</p><p>The first flicker of a smile appeared on Treville's face. ‘It is not without its merits. I would advise you to speak to your three lazy friends out there. I am certain they can explain it to you better than I now you understand the basics.’</p><p>Sensing he had been both awarded a great honour and summarily dismissed at the same time, d’Artagnan turned to leave, then abruptly swivelled back to Treville, mind jumping with questions and with one in particular forefront in his mind.</p><p>‘Who is it?’</p><p>Treville glanced up at him, already sat back down and busy shuffling some paperwork. ‘Pardon?’</p><p>‘Who amongst the dragons has chosen me as their Rider? I mean, I suppose it’s either Athos, Aramis or Porthos, but which one?’</p><p>He could have sworn a smirk crossed Treville’s face before being schooled back into its usual grim expression.</p><p>‘You misunderstand me,’ he said. ‘I am referring to the three of them.’</p><p>D’Artagnan took a step back. ‘Three-?</p><p>‘It is unusual,’ Treville continued, ‘I’ll give you that. Unheard of, in fact. Usually in the rare instance that a dragon chooses a Rider, it is on an individual basis. But,’ he said consideringly, ‘Athos, Aramis and Porthos are inseparable in all else. It makes sense that they would choose you together too.’</p><p>‘But how-’</p><p>Treville’s gaze sharpened. ‘Do not think I have not argued with them against this. You are rash, impetuous and unused to the rigours associated with soldiering, let alone with the burden of responsibility a true Rider must bear. You have shown signs of being capable – working hard, putting the dragons’ needs before your own. Quite apart from that the dragons are set on it, and I must do what is best for those who form my ranks. In this case, that means allowing my three best Musketeers to take you under their collective wings and pray their decision does not prove foolish.’</p><p>D'Artagnan digested this. ‘How long -’ he started, but Treville cut across him immediately, his voice coated with a flint-hard edge.</p><p>‘I’m disappointed in you, d’Artagnan. It is not a question of how long this will last. I will caution you now, do not think this will be easy, nor that it is some fun game to while away your youth. Dragons may be intelligent, but they are protective, loyal and possessive to the end of their days, with each of these traits being amplified immeasurably in the case of a true bond. If at some point, weeks or even years from now, you decide this is not the life for you, there will be no getting out of it, not without causing irreparable harm to the dragon - dragons- who have chosen you. And I will not have that. This bond is to the end.’</p><p>‘No, I did not-’ Shaking his head, d’Artagnan tried again. ‘I meant to ask, how long until I can start?’</p><p>Treville’s grim face relaxed.</p><p>‘Look outside and I think you’ll have your answer.’</p><p>In a few quick strides d'Artagnan was out the door, only to be forced to a halt as he came face to face with the huge scaled heads of the three Musketeers - one as dark as night, the second the red of a burning fire, and the third the smooth emerald sheen of the newest spring.</p><p>He could not help it. He grinned and stretched out a hand over the balcony to stroke first one nose, then a second, then he found himself knocked over onto his rear on the wooden landing with a heavy tail wrapping between the balustrades to twine about his legs.</p><p>‘Hello,’ he said happily, relishing the feel of the burnished, shining scales beneath his fingers, only to reel back as a deafening cacophony of the voices of three dragons sounded somehow within his mind, echoed outside of it by Aramis’s delighted bugle, Porthos’s joyful roar and a decisive snort from Athos.</p><p>Astounded, he looked behind him to where Treville stood in the door of his office, smiling.</p><p>‘You are one of us now, d'Artagnan,’ he said. ‘Welcome to the Musketeers.’</p><p> </p><p>-------------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">Epilogue</span>
</p><p>Cardinal Armand Richelieu, First Minister of France, paced back and forth across the narrow transept of the church, the stained-glass windows sending multi-hued streams of evening light angling across the heavy drape of his heavy scarlet robes.</p><p>‘Your plan has failed!’ he snapped into the dark-edged shadows that lingered behind the central altar. ‘Far from discrediting the Musketeers in the eyes of the King and public, a true Rider has been added to their ranks. Do you know how rare that is? I have not heard of one for near thirty years! Not since Treville lost his beast has there been one in Paris!’</p><p>'He is a boy.’</p><p>‘A boy who now controls the three most powerful dragons in all of France!’</p><p>The shadows shifted, seeming to tilt and move, and a slim, elegant dragon with scales of deep violet withdrew from out of the darkness, the gleam of its sharply curved claws bright and wicked.</p><p>‘He does not control them,’ the dragon snapped. ‘No one controls any dragon, much less one such as Athos.’</p><p>‘As you found to your disadvantage, I'm sure,’ the Cardinal replied. He strode forward, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise empty church. ‘I have heard the tales of true Riders, as have you. The bonds they form with their dragons are unparalleled. The damage they are able to accomplish if they wish it, though this foul mindspeak of theirs-’</p><p>‘The bond is new. It will take some time to reach its full potential.’</p><p>‘And what is that potential exactly?’</p><p>There was no reply and the Cardinal’s gaze narrowed.</p><p>‘Ah. I see you dragons must still have your secrets. Even one such as you.’ As the silence continued, he sighed. ‘Very well, have it your way.’ He drew his robes close about him. ‘At the very least, this boy has the creatures’ loyalty, meaning he is a threat and must be removed before it becomes dangerous.’</p><p>The violet dragon’s forget-me-not coloured eyes glowed in the half-light. ‘You are thinking of this incorrectly, Richelieu, as you humans so often do. You see this new Rider, this <em>d’Artagnan</em>, as a strength, as something that will bind Athos and his friends even closer together with Treville at the helm. Whereas I say, if you harm the Rider, you harm all three.’</p><p>Angling his head to one side, the Cardinal smiled. ‘I do admire the way your cunning little mind works,’ he confided to her.</p><p>The dragon uncurled fully from her place twined about the altar. Nudging a low stone positioned in the flagstones beside it, she opened a hidden passage that disappeared into the shadows beneath the church. ‘Mark my words, Cardinal,’ she said casually, as she began to wind her way towards it, ‘this boy will not last long. Not if I have my way.’</p><p>The Cardinal lifted his chin. ‘I admit, I wish I had your confidence.’</p><p>There was a flicker of sharp teeth as the dragon disappeared into the darkness. ‘Be reassured, Richelieu. I am a dragon. And everyone knows that we dragons do not lie.’</p><p>
  <strong>END</strong>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For anyone wondering, I'm not planning on writing a sequel to this. I just wanted to write Milady as a dragon because she'd be amazing as one. :P</p><p>To those who made it this far, thank you so much for reading. I hope you liked this attempt to smush dragons and musketeers into a story together and I'd love to hear your thoughts.</p>
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